


The Hardest Thing

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Adultery, Anal Sex, Angst, Cheating, Guilt, Love Bites, M/M, Marking, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:27:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nicky feels lost under the depths of a love he's not allowed to return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hardest Thing

I feel lost when his eyes shut tight for a split second, those brilliant blue orbs disappearing beneath already heavy lids. Dark lashes sweep down over his flushed cheeks, trembling slightly under beads of sweat. He swallows jerkily, eyes squeezing tighter as a soft moan pours like liquid from between beautifully full lips.

“Nicky...”

I arch my back slightly, trying to push into the warmth of him, of his voice. God, there’s his sweat all over me, draping a second layer over my own and I couldn’t care fucking less.

“Ni... so... Oh.” It’s a breath as I feel him shift, triggering exactly the right place, and I arch up again, feeling my hard and desperately needy cock brush his stomach, making me cry out just loud enough to be embarrassing. My toes have curled up, I can feel them as my heels spasm into his back, tiny cotton threads caught up underneath my fingernails as they scrabble at the bed. White sheets. Or maybe pale blue. Or maybe I don’t fucking care in the fucking slightest.

“Just... ah...” The top of my head drops off the top of the pillow as my head goes back and my hips go up, making the roll of pleasure double back on itself, flooding through every nerve, over and over again as he begins to move slowly, and then faster.

“Nix... I lo...”

I yank him down by the hair, cutting off the words before they’re out of his mouth. His teeth accidentally dig into my lip, making me groan, but I don’t mind. It makes it seem all the more frantic, so raw and dangerous and hot. Jesus, it’s just so fucking good, over and over and over again as my hands come up to pull him into me even harder, craving the release he’ll bring me. He always does, better than anybody. Better than...

“Harder!”

His hands grip my wrists, dragging them above my head as he plunges in further, if that’s even possible, and for a wild moment I realise that if he grips any tighter he’s going to mark me. And for an even wilder one I realise that I don’t think I mind.

I wrench my hands away, tangling them in his hair as I finally feel him tense, little shocks running through his body and into mine, forcing needy little whining noises from my mouth. I can hear them, god, I’m fucking _whimpering_ , and his face screws up, sweat shining in the dark hair above his ears, as a deep breath follows the tense.

“Nix, I need...”

I do too... god it’s indescribable. Every single time I’m amazed by just how easily he brings me to the edge, the deep tightening in the depths of my stomach and top of my thighs descending on me before I even know it’s nearby. Everything turning to a haze, except for him. For this moment, for once, he’s the only clear thing. And as he opens his eyes there’s a hint of electricity kissing the blue depths, making me want to cry when I see the complete honesty and trust in there. Because I don’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this.

It’s over in a heartbeat, but it feels like an eternity as pure heat rushes over me. I might be screaming. There’s definitely noise rushing through my ears, and I look up to see his lips part in a long slow moan that I don’t hear but feel, thrumming along with the heat.

I lick away the salt that has fallen from his forehead onto my lips, looking up through hazy-again eyes as I feel his arms shudder on the pillow at my head. He’s almost frozen, his eyes closed in this look of pure relaxed joy and complete exhaustion, his breath coming in quick, sharp pants. His tongue smooths over his lips, and then that’s it as he gasps in a deep breath and collapses, rolling to the side so he doesn’t crush me. He’s good like that. Always thinking of me, even when he can barely think of himself.

“Fuck.”

I giggle with the last shred of breath I have left, rolling over until my head’s on his slick shoulder, my chest heaving against his side, hand coming up to rest on his elbow.

I could stay like this forever.

“Your... your phone just... beeped.”

I drag myself up, glancing apologetically at him as I pick up my phone from the table, the display flashing at me. I don’t need to look to know who it is, what this will mean. But I look anyway, feeling his eyes bore into me.

“I have to go.”

“Her?”

I nod, setting the phone back down and staring at the carpet, suddenly finding it very interesting as hesitant fingers graze my bare back, followed by a palm. I hear him take a breath.

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes I do.” I reply, not letting the emotion invade my voice. “I have to go. She’s back.”

“Nicky...”

“I have to go.”

I stand, feeling his touch tearing away from my flesh as I stand and pick up my jeans from the floor. They’re rough, and I tug them on noisily in an attempt to obscure the sound of slowly squeaking bedsprings, the weight from them lifted as he comes to stand near my shoulder.

“Please?”

I can’t look at him, or I know I’ll be lost. Those beautiful blue eyes will be filled with tears and his lower lip will be trembling. I won’t stand a chance.

“I can’t.” I whisper.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?”

“Don’t do this to me.”

I hear him lick his lips, and I turn back because I know he will have shut his eyes. He’s predictable like that. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I... I love you.” It’s torn from his throat as a harsh sob, and I look away again as I see a tear tremble in the corner of one closed lid, knowing it will have rolled away before I can do up my belt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.” He licks his lips again, and the springs creak again as he sits back down. “Yeah. I know.”

“It’s...”

“I know. I’m sorry. I’m complicating things, aren’t I?” I can almost hear the rueful smile. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to complicate things.”

“You know I...”

“Can’t do that to Georgina.” He finishes my sentence too easily. “I know.” He adds. I give up tying my laces to pull on the other shoe, hoping I’ll remember how to tie them by the time I have my shirt buttoned.

“I can’t do that to Georgina.” I repeat, turning to look at him over my shoulder as my fingers scrabble with the buttons. “It’s... I love her.”

“I know.”

“She’s... she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve loved her since I was fifteen. From the first moment I saw her. She’s never let me down, always been there when there was no-one else...” A lump wells in my throat when he turns his face away, but I press on. “I couldn’t live without her. I could never hurt her like that.”

‘But I still haven’t bloody left yet’ is tacked silently onto the end, though whether it’s by me or him or both of us I’m not sure. But I’m ready now, even my shoes are tied, and Georgina’s waiting one door away.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah.” He nods, already up and heading for the bathroom, his naked shoulders and hip decorated with bites. I shake my head, moving to the door, phone tucked into my back pocket as I go. The door shuts quietly behind me and I scrub my face with the heels of my hands, wincing as it smarts a little. I look down, seeing a tiny finger-shaped bruise against the inside of my wrist, so faint it’s almost not visible. But it hurts, just beneath the skin, and I tuck my hand in my pocket while I knock on my own door.

“Nico.” I don’t let her hug me, back away immediately, lest she smell the sex on me. My own scent, and Mark’s. That gloriously sweaty, masculine scent that could never be a patch on hers, but which I never want to wash off.

“Hi, sorry, been at the gym. I smell.” I laugh at her smirk, my hand still tucked into my pocket. “Just give me a minute. I have to shower.”

The tiles sting icily beneath my feet as I shut the door and lean against it, listening to her moving about. Humming. I look at the wall across from me, imagining him on the other side. He won’t be throwing a tantrum, I know, or crying, or chucking things around the room, or contemplating suicide, or anything silly like that. He’ll probably just be having a shower, washing my cum off him, knowing that he has to get clean before we meet up downstairs later. It’s for the best. He knows that. I know that. It’s absolutely for the best.

I hear Georgina pass the bathroom door, humming still, and I shove myself forward to turn on the shower, just faintly hearing something that sounds very much like a lamp shattering against the wall between Mark’s and my rooms.


End file.
